Alexandra, Gone (9 page)

Kurt checked the pizza, which was heating in the oven. It was ready, and he plated up. Dominic and Kurt ate their pizza, and Jane drank her coffee.

“So Elle’s gone fishing?” Dominic said.

“Afraid so. Still, it’s probably for the best. I’ve heard a rumor that Pat Hogan is coming.”

“Who’s Pat Hogan?” Kurt said with his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with a full mouth,” she said. “He’s a critic Elle threatened to stab when she was at art college.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t yesterday,” said Dominic. “I’m sure it’s all forgotten.”

“No. It’s funny—he loves her work but, my God, she hates him.”

“Dad, tell Mum about your new bike,” Kurt said, and then he opened his mouth wide to show his mother that his mouth had been empty of food before he had spoken.

“Funny,” she said. “What’s this about a bike?”

Dominic was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “It’s a Harley.”

“A road king,” Kurt said.

“Black cherry.”

“And black pearl.”

“It’s a real beaut.”

“I’d swap my dick for one,” Kurt said.

Dominic laughed and Jane covered her ears and smiled.

“How’s Bella?” Jane asked.

“She’s not talking to me,” Dominic said.

“Because you’re a selfish prick who nearly killed himself on a motorbike a year ago and, having promised faithfully that you would never get on a bike again, you’ve gone behind her back and bought a Harley?”

“Got it in one.”

“Jesus, Dominic, what is wrong with you?”

He grinned at her. “Ah, come on, Janey, Bella’s already giving me hell. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

She smiled at him. “Okay, I’ll be happy for you. Congratulations on your new bike. Please don’t cripple or kill yourself.”

“Ah, thanks for worrying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He winked at her.

She smiled and blushed a little.
Oh grow up, Jane.

“Jane, Jane, Jane? Are you there? Jane?” Rose’s voice came over the intercom.

Dominic stood up and pressed the button. “Hi, Rose.”

“Who let you in?” Rose asked.

“My son.” Dominic smiled.

“I want Jane.”

“I’m sorry. Jane is currently not available. Is there something I can do for you?”

“You can go back under the rock you’ve climbed out from.”

“I miss you too, Rose.”

“I want Jane.”

Jane stood up and pushed Dominic out of the way. “Yes, Rose.”

“Have you heard from Elle?”

“No.”

Rose hung up.

Dominic turned to Jane. “So are you going to invite me to this shindig or what?”

“Don’t you have a home to go to?”

“Maybe tomorrow when she’s cooled down.”

“Nice one, Dad. I’ll make up the spare room,” Kurt said.

Dominic reached into his pocket, took out a twenty-euro note, and handed it to him. Kurt pocketed the money and headed out the door and toward the spare room.

“You don’t mind?” Dominic said.

“I don’t seem to have a choice.” But she was smiling, indicating that she didn’t mind. In fact, it was obvious she was really happy.

Get a grip, Jane, he married someone else,
she thought as she made her way up to the shower.

Leslie walked into the bar, and despite the fact that it had been at least ten years since she’d seen him, she recognized him immediately. His head was down and he was reading a newspaper, and when she tapped him on the shoulder he managed to appear slightly surprised that she’d shown up. He stood, and he was shorter than she remembered. They hugged awkwardly.

“You’re taller than I remember,” he said.

“Heels,” she said, and she pointed to her brand-new black wedge heels.

“Jeepers, the last time I saw you, you wore nothing but sneakers.”

She didn’t tell him that this was the first time in years she had worn anything but MBTs, which basically were posh sneakers that made her work harder when she walked.

They sat down, and he asked her if she wanted a drink, and she said a white wine would be lovely, and he went to get one, and she was alone waiting for him to come back, and her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. He had aged around the eyes, and he’d shaved his head. He was thinner than she remembered, but he still had his dimples, the ones that had made Imelda go weak at the knees, and that warm smile she had loved so much.

What do we talk about? I hope I don’t make him cry. That last time I saw him I made him cry. Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me?

As it turned out, they had little trouble finding things to talk about. He came back with her wine and she asked him what he had been reading, and he told her and they talked about it, and then they moved on to books, and they shared a taste in books and so that gave them at least another hour of great conversation. Neither liked the cinema, so they discussed why they didn’t like it and then Leslie attempted to persuade Jim of the benefits of broadband. She couldn’t believe he was not yet converted.

“So you’ve never sent an e-mail?”

“No.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Is it?”

“And you’ve never surfed the Net?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to. Besides, I don’t have the knees for it.” He laughed at his own joke.

“If only that were funny, Jim.” She shook her head. “You’re a dinosaur, my friend.”

“Sorry, I’ll try to do better.” He smiled. She had called him a friend. Imelda would be happy.

“What about you?” he asked. “Still thinking about surgery?”

She nodded. “I’ve been to three specialists since we last spoke, and I’m doing it.”

It was strange that Jim was the only one she had told, but then again, it wasn’t that strange. After all, who would understand better than he? She was hardly going to tell her new friends, and she didn’t have anyone else in her life.

“When?” he asked.

“July. The first of July.” She nodded. “That’s the date they’ve given me.”

“It’s going to be hard. You’re going to need help.”

“I’m going from the hospital to a hospice,” she said, smiling. “It’s a really nice place. It’s going to be fine. I’m a big girl.”

“You’re not as strong as you think you are. They’re going to take your womb and your breasts”—he hunched his shoulders—“and that’s not fine.”

For the first time since Leslie had decided on surgery she felt her eyes fill. It had been such a relief to think that she would no longer be burdened by an imaginary time bomb ticking loudly in her head. She would be free, and that was bigger than a pair of breasts and a womb she was almost done with anyway. And still, those words and the way Jim said it—They’re going to take your womb and your breasts”—struck her; she’d never really let herself focus on that before. A fat tear dropped from her eyelid onto her cheek and slid down to her chin. She stopped it with her hand before it made its way to her neck.

Jim saw her single tear and made no apology for causing it. He needed her to understand the gravity of what she was doing because, although he agreed with her decision, knowing her of old it had occurred to him early on that she wouldn’t allow herself to think or talk about the pain it caused her. They sat in silence and sipped their drinks.

After a while Leslie looked Jim in the eye. “Do you remember your wedding day?”

“Like it was yesterday.”

“Imelda insisted I be bridesmaid, and even though I kicked and screamed she got her way. She made me wear peach, which is a color I detest, and the hairdresser piled my hair so high on my head that I looked like Marge Simpson.”

“I remember.” He smiled at the memory.

“We got dressed together, we got our makeup done together, we drank a glass of champagne, and we laughed at my dress even though she swore that she loved it. We talked about the future and all the babies she was going to have.”

“Oh, don’t,” he said, and he closed his eyes.

“I wrote her a poem, and she laughed so hard she held her ribs.” She smiled at the memory.
“‘Imelda sighed, Imelda cried, the day she met Jim the Ride / He was short, she was tall, he took her up against the wall.’”
She thought for a second.
“‘She had style, he had wit, he really thought he was the shit!’”
She laughed a little. “I can’t remember …”

“
‘Love is blind, that’s what they say, it must be, it’s her wedding day!’”
Jim said, grinning.

“I can’t believe you remembered!” Leslie laughed.

“She repeated it often enough.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no poet laureate, but you must admit it has a kind of bawdy charm even if I do say so myself,” she said. “And after the church we all walked through a wood to the reception, and it was such a hot day—do you remember how blue the sky was?”

“Not a cloud in the sky.”

“And the band played all the best songs and we all danced all night.”

“It was a great day.”

“It was my sister’s wedding, and I can honestly say it was my best day. They may be taking my breasts and my womb, but for the first time I feel like I have a chance of having my own best day.”

Jim nodded and raised his glass and she raised hers.

“I’ll drink to that!” he said, and they clinked glasses. “And, Leslie, when you need someone, and you will, promise you’ll call me.”

“Why?”

“Because of a promise I made a long time ago.”

“Okay, I will.”

On the walk to the gallery they talked about relationships, and Jim told Leslie about the women who had been in his life after Imelda. There was Mary, a librarian from Meath. She was a fan of musicals and Shakespeare, and according to Jim she was passive-aggressive. They had lasted eight months, but it had been only a year after Imelda, and although she was a great cook and looked like a slightly chunkier and seriously paler Sophia Loren, his heart hadn’t been in it. Then there was Angela. She was funny, smart, attractive, and kind. She also had a psycho ex-husband and four kids under the age of ten so, after he’d been punched in the face on the street and warned to leave her alone or he’d be joining his wife in the ground, he had decided he needed space. She and the kids had moved to the UK a month later and he hadn’t heard from her since. Then the Russian woman he had told her about on their first phone call.

“I really thought we might have a future,” he said. “So what about you?”

Leslie laughed as he followed her across the street.

“Well?” he said.

“No one.”

“No one! In ten years there has been no one?”

“Eighteen years, but who’s counting?”

“Simon was your last relationship?” Jim was aghast and wasn’t too shy to reveal his astonishment. He slowed his pace and took her arm. “I know nuns who get more action than you.”

“That’s funny, because my hairdresser knew some Trappist monks with better haircuts. Coming up short against religious orders seems to be the theme of the day.”

“I like your hair,” he said.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

They entered the gallery and were met by Jane, who was surprisingly calm and collected despite her sister’s absence. Leslie introduced her to Jim, and they shook hands, and Jane complimented Leslie on looking stunning, which embarrassed her, and then she insisted they have a glass of wine and some savory snacks. The place was packed with people, and many were crowded around the paintings, so they decided to wait until the herd thinned. They sipped wine and chatted in the corner. Jane was doing a lovely job playing host. She was polite and pleasant to the three critics who came, and she made time for all five collectors who had been supporters of Elle’s since the beginning of her career. She made excuses for Elle and no one seemed to mind particularly, apart from the photographer, who was clearly high on cocaine and annoyed that he hadn’t been informed of Elle’s absence, despite the fact that plenty of other minor celebrities were there ready to pose for him.

“This is a joke,” he said to Jane. “Where the fuck is she?”

“Freddie,” Jane said, “you’re not Herb Ritts. Take photos, hand them in to the media desks, and shut up.”

“That’s my girl!” Dominic said from over Jane’s shoulder. He was on his third glass of wine and was thoroughly enjoying his night.

Freddie stormed off and started to push a TV presenter and a rugby player together, pointing at them and shouting for them to move this way and that. They complied, and he moved on and pushed three blond socialites back against a wall. Jane made a mental note never to use him again.

Dominic put his arm around her, “Nice event,” he said. “Good wine, good food, good music, and who could have guessed Metallica would work so well sandwiched in between Beethoven and Bach?”

“It’s Rachmaninoff and Chopin.”

He nodded and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “And who could have guessed Metallica would work so well sandwiched in between Rachmaninoff and Chopin? You say tomato—”

“Get off!” She pushed him away playfully.

Leslie appeared with Jim, and Jane made the introductions.

Jane had filled Dominic in on Alexandra’s extraordinary disappearance and what they were doing to find her as they were driving to the gallery. He had been really shocked to hear the news—he had been friends with her before he had gotten Jane pregnant and dumped her at a disco, but after that Alexandra hadn’t had any time for him even if Jane had. The last time he’d seen her had been just before she moved to Cork to go to college. His son had been two months old and he hadn’t seen him yet. She had pushed a picture of Kurt onto his chest and told him to look at it. She had told him it was his son and he should be ashamed. He still had the photo, and he had been ashamed, but still it would be another four years before he’d have the courage to knock on Jane’s door to visit with his child.

Dominic smiled at Leslie and told her that she was doing a really good thing in helping to find Alexandra. “She was a great girl,” he said.

Later, when all the people had gone and Dominic and Jane were alone, he helped her clear tables and box up the unused glasses.

“I missed so much,” he said out of nowhere.

“So much of what?” Jane asked, too tired to try to work out what was going on in his head.

“Of Kurt.”